The Art of the Deal
by ncfan
Summary: -Shinji, Yamamoto- He hated to think that the old man was getting to him.


**Characters**: Shinji, Yamamoto**  
Summary**: He hates to think that the old man's actually getting to him.**  
Pairings**: None**  
Warnings/Spoilers**: None**  
Timeline**: pre-manga**  
Author's Note**: This connects to a few chapters in my _Bleach_ drabble series _Time in Seconds_. They are as follows: _Wrong Man to Rob, Transition Incomplete_ and (if the sight ever lets me upload it) _Bratty Youngest Child_.**  
Disclaimer: **I don't own Bleach.

* * *

"_As I seem to recall, we had a deal," Yamamoto remarked sternly, voice uncharacteristically silent. Shinji just stared blandly at him._

_In his former—maybe not so former—life as a thief, Hirako Shinji saw and experienced many things that people would term "scary" or "frightening" or "running-for-the-door-terrifying". He'd learned to live with them and move on. As such, being jerked away from class at the Academy and called to Yamamoto's office didn't intimidate him nearly as much as it ought to have. Yamamoto didn't scare him. Yamamoto Genryuusai Shikeguni, soutaicho of the Gotei Thirteen, did not even remotely intimidate Hirako Shinji, unless he was threatening to incinerate him._

_And that ever-present threat, there from the first day of their meeting, was never far from the surface of Shinji's mind when he was with the old man._

"_The 'deal', as you call it, wasn't much of a 'deal' to start with," Shinji retorted. "It involved you threatening to burn me to a crisp if I didn't come back to Seireitei with you."_

"_I'm beginning to wish I had," Yamamoto growled, and Shinji restrained a wince—he had to keep his dignity somehow—finding himself praying that his status as a student would protect him._

"_And anyway," Shinji went on hastily, "all our 'deal' entailed was that I'd become a Shinigami in exchange for my life after trying to rob you blind. You said nothing concerning my conduct. Absolutely nothing."_

_Yamamoto squeezed his eyes tightly shut; _that,_ Shinji had learned from experience, was never a good sign. "Behaving yourself with decorum and not reverting to the behavior that brought you here in the first place was implicit in the agreement. A Shinigami does not resort to petty theft for _any_ reason and a Shinigami does _not_ hoard his teacher's ink brushes. If you can't understand that and if you can't pull your grades up then there's no place for you here and I'll just put you back where I found you. Now leave my sight."  
_

There were days when Shinji _really_ wished he hadn't tried to pick Yamamoto's pocket back in Rukongai. This was one of those days, as he laid on his bunk in the dormitories, the paper blinds drawn against the glaring late afternoon sun, and listened to his male classmates disperse (classes had been cut short that day) at the sound of the pealing bell to go eat. Shinji, usually a hearty eater (growing up with little food tended to have that effect), had no appetite for the Academy's plain fare nor any other food. Not tonight.

_The old man doesn't know what he's talking about_, Shinji stubbornly insisted to himself. _Not a clue. Completely off the mark._

But still, Yamamoto's words, the implicit accusations there, three hours on still twisted a knife in Shinji's gut, and he couldn't stop thinking about it, not if it was to save his life.

From the first day, there had been conflict between them. A young thief attempted to pick an old man's pocket and the old man smartly caught him, neatly dragged him into a deserted alley and smoothly promised that he would incinerate him for his attempted theft if he didn't come back to Seireitei with him and study to become a Shinigami. Shinji used to only half-joke that he "was kidnapped" back when that declaration was new and shiny and still had the power to shock. Now, it only provoked a disinterested shrug and a discreet roll of the eyes from anyone who heard it and, for the most part, Shinji didn't use that line anymore.

Shinji wasn't sure whether to resent Yamamoto for snatching him out of Rukongai and forcing a complete on-his-head change in his life or to be grateful for doing so and ensuring (maybe) that he wouldn't end up stabbed and dead in some damp, dark alley. Often, he was simply both, glad for the comfort but resenting what it had cost him.

Yamamoto… Yamamoto could not be denied as a huge presence in Shinji's life, not now anyway. He was blunt and rude (apparently believing that his age and rank excused him; Shinji tended to disagree by being as rude to Yamamoto as Yamamoto was to him), demanding to know everything about everything. For some reason Shinji could never hope to fathom and didn't examine too closely, he had taken an interest in him beyond simply dumping him in the Academy and leaving him at that. And frankly, it was something Shinji could have lived without.

That was how he found himself in the situation he was in right now. Why should Yamamoto _care_ what he did with his spare time, or that his grades were currently in the gutter? Why (Shinji coughed a little and cast a single eye towards the stand by his bed) should Yamamoto care that, in his nightstand and underneath his bed there was a bit _more_ than just stolen ink brushes (Shinji wouldn't go into details but there were books and bits of artwork and writing under that bed that certainly weren't his)? Shinji was unapologetic and Yamamoto ought not to have cared, just like he shouldn't have cared that Shinji was currently at the bottom of his class.

Both of the soutaicho's issues with the thief-turned-student were both borne of actions on Shinji's part that were perfectly intentional. He wasn't a kleptomaniac; he was stealing because he was bored. And as for the flunking every class… Well, Shinji was rebelling the only way he knew how; driving the resident authority figure up the wall.

It was intentional. That hadn't escaped Yamamoto's notice.

Shinji frowned pensively as he watched a thin strip of light from the window steal across his stomach, his brow furrowing. _I'm on to you, old man. _But he couldn't quite escape the trap.

The challenge was set. Yamamoto seemed to be making it clear that he expected Shinji to get nowhere. He was just _waiting_ for Shinji to screw up beyond repair, waiting for him to end up dead, dropped out or expelled and back in Rukongai.

Well no thank you.

Shinji hated to admit it, but the old man might have actually been getting to him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so irritated concerning something that involved another's opinion of him. Come to think of it, he'd _never_ been so irritated about such a thing before. It just didn't happen.

But now, he actually had a desire to prove Yamamoto wrong. He had the overwhelming desire to see Yamamoto's eyebrows rise in surprise and, if not have him admit that he was wrong about him, then at least have Yamamoto be flabbergasted with Shinji's sudden change in behavior.

Anything to remove the threat of incineration.

Shinji sighed and started to rise from his bed, staring morosely at the accumulated debris underneath and imagining the junk piled high within the nightstand.

It was time to break out the books and set a fire. Shinji needed to purge himself of all his ill-gotten gains, and he had entirely too much pride to just give it all back.

He couldn't wait to see the look on Yamamoto's face.


End file.
